An Unexpected Encounter. A Shadowy Maze and a Marble Dome. Some Dreams and a Black Panther. A Deadly and Foul-Smelling Trap. Finally, a Cozy Shelter for the Winter!
I
"Come in. Why are you just standing there?"
The voice of the chanting woman shattered my feverish nightmares so their shards finally scattered into near-oblivion — that misty, peculiar realm where all dreams, good or ill, born of sleep or waking, retreat for a while... or vanish forever. My bruised shoulder throbbed with pain, and in the shadows of the twilight, flickers of light danced before my eyes. Even so, I tried to steady myself, to reclaim my own thoughts, and mumbled:
"I don't want to..."
"Why? Are you shy? Do I need to lie down on the couch and seemingly fall asleep for you to find your nerve?" she said softly.
I stared at the woman, and a cold shiver ran through me; it was her, the old lady who had bought me goodies on the first day of my freedom. I could almost taste those wonderful hot pies and sweet roasted chestnuts again; I felt the warmth of that delicious tea flooding my insides! Her eyes—hollow and deep now—commanded me to move, to come closer, to come inside the house. So I struggled to stand and managed to pull myself up, clutching the window ledge, but the pain was unbearable; my legs quivered, and a fever had taken hold of me, burning my scared mind. So I barely whispered, "I can't walk! It hurts!"
"Well, then crawl! Don't just stand there gazing at me! Did I grow horns or something?" she said in a flat voice, looking at me with a half-amused curiosity.
This vexed me, and my blood started to boil. So I did what she asked and dragged myself inside, only to show her that I'm not afraid.
After what felt like an eternity of torments, I finally made it to her and looked up. Her eyes had softened again, like those of a harmless old lady, yet the reassuring image didn't hold long. Something about her still felt... off—totally off! As I said, her silvery hair was impossibly long and shiny; also, there was that dress—tight, perfectly cut, and entirely unsuited to someone her age—that clung to a figure that looked far too agile, too firm, too strong for an elderly woman!
I didn't have time to wonder too much because she hastily grabbed me by the armpits and sat me on a stool near the table. She then unbuttoned my blouse, undressed me, and then sighed:
"A dislocated shoulder... and maybe a broken rib. If you're lucky, it's only the shoulder. Let's see..."
She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small clay jar. As soon as she opened it, a sharp, minty scent filled the air — the smell of a bright green ointment. The lady smeared it carefully across my bruised shoulder, and, almost miraculously, the pain dulled in an instant.
Then she settled into a chair and watched me in silence. My mind was now clear, and within moments, the feverish chills vanished; the fear had ebbed entirely, replaced by an unbridled curiosity. Yet I felt strange and wanted to go outside, to get some fresh air. The candle fumes, although sweet and fragrant, now seemed slightly nauseating, and I didn't like them anymore. So, I said, "Are we done? Can I go now?"
She chuckled softly. "Oh no, my dear. The worst is yet to come. But be a good girl, will you? No screaming. It won't take long... Here, bite on this!"
She pulled a short, rather thick stick from her bag. It looked like wood, but not any wood I knew. It was supple, slightly soft to the touch, yet tough and strangely resilient — perhaps just some other odd thing from the distant South Seas.
Then, with one swift, precise move, she popped my shoulder back into place. Ah, the pain was excruciating, so intense that I was instantly drenched in a cold, clammy sweat! I clenched the stick between my teeth, biting it hard, but I couldn't even leave a mark on it.
I just sat there, stunned, tears brimming in my eyes. For a moment, I truly believed I would die. The pain had been so sharp, it seemed so... final.
And after all, my coffin was waiting for me, right on the table beside us!
Yet the pain suddenly ceased, and on the table... Well, on the table was no coffin at all! Only a crystal vase with exotic flowers, the expensive candle still burning in a gold, richly ornated candlestick, and a silver plate—a large one, full of a bounty of tantalizing-looking fruit, all ripe and fragrant!
I let out a shy smile and tried to move. A sharp, prickling sensation spread through my bruised shoulder, like hundreds of tiny needles poking into a pincushion — but compared to what I had just endured, it was nothing. So I gathered my courage and began to question her:
"Who are you? What's your name?"
She burst out laughing and patted me gently on the head.
"Maria!"
"Maria?! What kind of name is that? I've never heard it before! Are you an Elf? May I see your ears? I've never seen Elvish ears, but I've heard they're very cute!"
She stopped laughing and looked at me harshly. However, I could tell she was struggling to hold back a smile. Beneath that well-feigned severity, I sensed something else: Kindness. And... relief? Relief? Now, that was strange!
"You're incorrigible, aren't you?" she said. "Give it a few more moments, and you might even start to like me — and forget what you felt about your fellow mortals just a short while ago!"
She paused, her tone softening. "Though maybe that's for the best... No, I'm not an Elf. And no, I don't have ears like that."
She lifted her silvery hair, revealing a perfectly ordinary human ear.
"But—" I started, a hundred questions bursting into my mind.
"But now," she interrupted, "you will close your mouth and listen! Listen carefully—perhaps you could use some of those elvish ears you were so curious about, Elsie!"
"How do you know my name is Elsie?" I blurted out, eyes wide with astonishment.
Her expression changed instantly—it darkened; I felt her anger like a coldness slipping into my bones, and instinctively, I lowered my gaze. Shame flooded me.
And I kept my mouth shut.
...With great difficulty, though.
Maria said:
"Indeed, you are quite cute when you put on that innocent look! But we don't have time, and for a long while, we won't meet again. So, from this moment on, you will do well and make no more mistakes."
"Sleep during the day and prowl by night; the darkness, feared by your so-called fellow mortals, is your greatest ally! Go down into the city's sewers and explore some of the endless corridors and vaults beneath it. Find a place you can call home. But beware! There are unfathomable depths in those sewers. If you ever feel an unnatural cold creeping from a vault, run. Do not go any farther!"
"Get new, clean clothes—several sets—and store them in your haven. But don't throw away the rags you're wearing now; you'll need them too. Never, ever leave your shelter dressed the same way twice!"
"Stalk the places you plan to steal from—or even buy, if you're that kind of fool. And don't just pinch bread—snatch coin whenever you can, and learn to make it last.
Whenever you go out during the day, be extremely cautious and never stay in one place for too long. At night, scout the locations that interest you, and only visit them during the day afterward."
"Do not be timid, and do not avoid fights that seem balanced or in your favor. You are much stronger than you think... though not in the usual way.
Think less; especially when in danger, trust your instincts."
"Learn to cry like it means something. Works wonders—'specially on men. Or even on kind old women like me, eh?" she grinned.
"And try not to grow attached to anyone—human or animal.
Right now, you have no friends in this city."
She finally stopped and looked at me carefully. I wanted to ask her questions again, but she silenced me with a look. Maria took a small pitcher from her bag and poured a stinging-smelling liquid onto a cloth. She gently wiped my injured shoulder. Then she told me to stand up.
"So I will be going now. You can eat the fruit on the table if you like it. Get dressed and—
Ah, don't you dare to take anything from this house and leave it as soon as possible!"
At the doorway, she paused. Without turning around, she said:
"Maria? Maria is a name from another story...
Maybe I'll tell you that tale someday!
If you live."
Then she left, closing the door behind her carefully, quietly, as part of a ritual. I stood still for a moment, waiting for her to depart. Then I breathed a sigh of relief and took a peach from the table. I bit into it greedily—but the fruit was overripe and much, much too sweet. And dry. I put it back, disappointed, and picked up a large apple as yellow and beautiful as ancient gold. But it, too, was overly sweet, and its flesh was also dried. The apricots? Just the same. And the cherries—honeyed, yes, but a bit rotted.
All the fruits from that silver plate remind me now of those found on ancient trees growing in long-forgotten cemeteries. The kind with gnarled roots that push through cracked marble tombs or rise between the humble resting places of the poor—it doesn't matter. In the stifling summer heat, all are swallowed by ivy and weeds, and none bear a name anymore. In such places, time moves differently—if it moves at all. The fruit, the air, the flowers... everything is touched by something old and quiet, something that no longer belongs to the world above. But I'll speak of such places later, friends... when you're ready to listen with silence in your hearts.
I gave up eating, very disappointed, and instead, began to look around, curious. Everything in the room was just as I remembered it from a year ago. The painting of Red Mountain erupting still hung above the soft, low couch that invited me to rest, and the glass cabinet still stood in its place, glowing faintly in the candlelight, full of trinkets—delicate and strange.
I approached the cabinet and saw inside a black crystal horse, with two tiny rubies as its eyes, masterfully embedded in the material— a gift from my mother, Kiersten, to my former hosts. Beside it were miniature ivory figurines of various exotic animals and many other beautiful, fragile things.
I wanted to take the little horse and keep it as an heirloom from my mother. I perfectly remembered the moment I asked her about him; she told me that it was a superb reproduction of a legendary horse. Yet its name had slipped from my mind back then, but now I know it was Shadowmere, the black mare who, as I write this, is angrily neighing in the garden beneath my open window.
So I reached for the cut-glass panel, meaning to open it and then—I heard a hiss. A terrifying, snake-like hiss. I froze instantly and looked behind: the exquisite candle had begun to smoke, releasing a sharp and acrid scent, and making that terrible, repulsive sound. Only expensive candles like that don't smoke—they never do. I remembered Maria's warning. With my heart pounding, I turned away from the cabinet, got dressed, and hurried to leave the mansion.
I stepped out into the deep, silky, warm summer night. Neither of Nirn's moons was in the starry sky, so I decided to follow Maria's advice and make a nocturnal incursion into the Elven Garden District to study the surroundings a bit.
Oh, the night around me was thick and hot; it also had fangs and claws! It bit with silence, with distant dog barks and with the creak of a shutter stirred by the wind. The cobblestones beneath my feet whispered with every step; each of them was a trap, a deadly one, but not for me. Somewhere, not far but not too close either, a man was being beaten. Somewhere else, a cat howled in love or rage—ah, who could tell the difference anymore? The mansion's garden pulsed with danger—and with strange allure. I wanted to stay more, to lie on the grass and sleep, maybe dream about my mother, Kiersten... That reminded me of the horse and the hiss, and I hurried into the street.
All around me became more earthly, more grounded once I left the overgrown garden. Along the wide, shadow-draped streets, people walked in pairs or small groups, savoring the nocturnal cool. And I moved confidently among them, knowing the darkness enveloped me in its silky, rich brocade. I followed some of the pairs closely and eavesdropped on their conversations; I climbed fences—only the low ones because my shoulder reacted painfully to any particular effort—and I peered intently and curiously through the illuminated windows. And even through the darkened ones, my gaze pierced deep. Of course, not as it would in daylight—colors were nearly absent, replaced by shades of black and white—but shapes and surfaces stood out with eerie clarity.
And the smells...Oh, I could sense them all. The scent of food—meat and bread, and roasted vegetables; of perfume—light, floral, or musky and heavy; of human sweat. The smoke from candles and candelabras. The aroma of wine and sugary sweets, of flowers in bloom, of overripe fruits. Even the smell of latrines hidden discreetly among lilac bushes, whose sweet perfume failed to fully conceal the more earthy, human truth beneath. And many others, vivid but not known by me yet!
I spied on people, watching their deeds from the shadows: their gestures, their laughter, their secrets. I gathered fruit from the trees of the gardens I passed through and ate them gladly. I drank cold water from a deep stone fountain in a wealthy man's yard. I spent the whole night like this, and when dawn approached, I set out toward the Talos Plaza District—searching for the entrance to the sewers, just as Prioress Sescia had told me.
I found it easily because the district is bordered by an open collecting canal, and on its southern side lies an opening—an oval aperture sealed with thick iron bars; the gate was locked with a heavy, rust-eaten padlock, which I broke using a stone. Opening the grate took effort; the hinges were so corroded they shrieked in protest, a rattling sound that echoed through the early morning silence. I glanced around once, then stepped into the narrow corridor that sloped downward at a gentle angle. Along the sides, against walls crusted with silt and age, ran a narrow ledge made of smooth stone slabs.
As I moved away from the entrance, the darkness grew thicker, so much so that I had to stop and let my eyes adjust. I leaned my right hand against the damp wall; it felt cold and clammy—the stone beneath my hand strangely pulpy, as if rotting from within. Shapes slowly returned: dim outlines of stone, the vague suggestion of distance, the curve of the passage ahead. To my left, murky waters crept sluggishly forward, and now and then something glinted below—shards of dawnlight filtering through the rare manholes above, caressing old, forgotten things lying there.
I kept going until I reached a junction where the corridor opened into a far wider tunnel. The air changed—it grew colder, wetter, and heavier; the scent was no longer just old water and moss but something deeper, earthier, as if the stone itself was exhaling. I hesitated, asking myself whether anyone could truly live in a place like this. Yet both ladies—Sescia and Maria—had spoken of the sewers as a refuge, so I decided to continue my journey in this subterranean realm.
To my right, the wide gallery climbed sharply upward, its damp floor glistening faintly. That seemed like the path to follow, and so I did.
I went farther along the grand gallery of the Talos Plaza District. On my left, a stream of dark, relentless waters flowed rapidly through the principal culvert. On my right, spaced at intervals along the damp wall, narrow corridor mouths appeared from time to time. In these places, thin stone arches crossed the secondary drains that fed their contents into the main collector channel. I crossed these cautiously, one by one, trying not to slip.
As I continued forward, I began to make out more and more of my surroundings. The light filtering through the manholes above grew steadily stronger, and I noticed that most of them had bronze rungs embedded in the wall beneath them, forming narrow ladders. I tried climbing one, but my injured shoulder protested immediately, forcing me to abandon the attempt. So I kept walking.
The gallery seemed to widen the deeper I went, and the side passages became more frequent; eventually, I stepped into a large cavern. I was surprised to feel that vast emptiness opening in front of me; first, it was a sensation like standing on the edge of an abyss, then I started to sense something like a bluish light that seemed a bit warm. Startled, I began to explore, keeping my right hand on the slick wall and guiding myself along it.
I wandered a lot through the darkness, which was not completely dark, and I began to feel tired and hungry. I even considered abandoning my journey, starting to think that it would be wiser to turn back and return to the city streets; yet this wasn't too easy an endeavour because I forgot to mark somehow the gallery I had entered through. And I seemingly passed by a lot of other corridors, many of them wide and wet, and a few narrow and dry. Time passed, though I couldn't tell how much. I walked, increasingly tired, increasingly disoriented, and a subtle worry began to gnaw at me. It hadn't occurred to me that I was merely retracing my own steps... again and again.
Ah, as I would later discover, this central chamber was perfectly round, lying directly beneath the White-Gold Tower. The entire sewer system I had been wandering through was ancient—built by the Ayleids themselves—and like all constructions of that long departed people, it was a marvel of both engineering and enchantment. In ways now lost to time—even to their Altmer descendants—the very stone and marble of their structures were infused with peculiar and potent magics. Not symbols, not mere runes, but enchantments woven deep into the very fabric of the stone. Now, when I know more about things like that, I'm pretty sure those ancient walls still remember their makers: proud, brilliant... and often cruel beyond comprehension.
Of course, none of this was known to me during that first foray into the city underground. Tired, hungry, and increasingly anxious, I stopped to gather my thoughts and consider a way back to the entrance. But nothing came to my mind—only the thought that I might already be lost. Fear began to stir in the hollow of my chest.
Still, I refused to give in. I forced myself to think of the two remarkable women who had shaped my path in recent days. Prioress Sescia... Ah, she would never allow fear to master her! I was sure of it. And Maria? Maria would find some elegant solution to slip past any obstacle—probably with a faint smile and a whisper I wouldn't fully understand until much later...
As I thought about my peculiar acquaintance, Maria, my mind became clearer and more focused. The anxiety that had gripped me faded, and I noticed something odd: the foul stench of the sewers had diminished—almost vanished. The air was warm and far less humid. And then, I picked up a scent that didn't seem to belong there. Curious, I followed it, sniffing like a stray beast on the trail of something half-remembered. I soon found myself beside an opening in the wall—another passageway, narrow and dry, without a central water channel like the others.
I stepped inside with caution. Unlike most of the corridors I'd seen so far, this one sloped upward. That alone gave me a flicker of hope, so I kept going. However, I didn't get far before the passage ended abruptly, a wall blocking the passage. Running my fingers over the surface, I discovered steps carved into the stone. Not a stairwell, but handholds and footholds cut roughly into the stone, like a primitive ladder. Ignoring the pain, I climbed only to reach a low ceiling; I groped blindly, hoping to find a trapdoor or something like a lever, but I found nothing, nothing at all—just rough, unyielding stone.
I went down slowly, irritated but not defeated; I ran my hands along the corridor walls once more, hoping for a hidden door or alcove. But there was nothing, no branching tunnels, no tricks—just that one narrow passage leading to a seemingly useless ladder.
With a tired sigh, I returned to the large chamber, once again no closer to finding my way out—or a safe place to rest.
After the pitch darkness of that dead-end gallery, I could distinguish things better around me, so I ventured toward the center of the room. I was intrigued, seeing or rather feeling a massive white structure ahead of me, standing like a thick and tall pillar.
'But how high could anything truly rise in this subterranean realm?'
I wondered, moving cautiously forward. Yet, I wouldn't find out the answer too soon. My path was quickly halted by a relatively high stone ledge—white, gleaming, and seemingly warm to the touch. It appeared as a pale shape before me, and I stretched out my hands to the right and left... Yes, the structure extended in both directions. I hesitated to follow it further, unwilling to lose my orientation toward the narrow corridor I had just explored. And I liked it there, so, being hungry, I sat down on the floor with my back pressed against the broad, low stone rim of what seemed to be a huge well, its surface radiating warmth. Very calm despite my situation, which did not seem too good, I took from my apron pocket a large loaf of bread and one of the apples I had stolen from that poor old woman. I began to eat, calm as if I were at a jolly picnic in a glade from a sunny wood.
I felt comfortable there, in that vast room where no unpleasant odors existed, and the cold dampness from the galleries around seemed not to reach. The bread tasted delicious, with a flavor I had never experienced before, melting in my mouth. And the apple... Ah, that small, wrinkled apple—it was sweet and fresh, just like honey squeezed from a honeycomb fresh from the hive!
Occasionally, I could hear sounds akin to the wind whispering as it weaves through ancient, ivy-clad ruins. And the darkness around me seemed to cradle a strange, spectral glow—a faint, almost imperceptible blue light, likely imperceptible to ordinary sight. Yet, for me, it was more than enough to make out, from where I was sitting, the edges of the corridor that intrigued me so much.
I finished eating, and my thoughts began to drift.
Lush landscapes, untamed jungles, and sun-drenched swamps bursting with flowers of wild and otherworldly beauty took shape in my mind, just as I had seen them depicted in the frescoes adorning the walls of the White-Gold Tower. My mind was filled with green, an overwhelming, untamed green, shimmering beneath the harsh light of a sun blazing high in a sky of pure, cloudless blue! I could hear the birds singing and the deafening squawks of a great tribe of monkeys darting through the branches of towering, ancient trees.
Then, I saw a magnificent creature—one that, despite its impressive size, moved with grace as it sneaked toward the edge of a pond where a few gazelles drank water. A leopard! I know now that it was a leopard; a young, powerful specimen, its sleek coat shimmering in the bright light of that noon. It paused within the cover of a thick bush, muscles rippling beneath its glossy fur; I saw its yellow eyes, sharp and focused, searching for the weaker prey... Suddenly, it pounced—its body coiling and springing forward like a tightly wound spring! The leap was long, precise, and almost otherworldly in its wild elegance.
But just as the leopard lunged, something happened: the air shimmered, and a sound broke through the vibrant heat — a sharp caw, cold and alien. A black-feathered shadow sliced across the blue sky, and in that fleeting instant, something dark fell upon the predator, like spilled ink or night come too early.
Its golden coat, so dazzling beneath the sun, was swallowed by shadows, the spots melting into sleek obsidian. Muscles shifted. Bones stretched in ways that felt unnatural.
What remained standing in the tall grass was a magnificent black panther, eyes burning like polished amber. She turned her huge head, slowly... not toward the fallen prey, but toward me. And then she came right to me faster than you can say Jack Robinson and curled around my legs, purring like a very satisfied great cat. From time to time, she swatted me with her powerful tail in that playful, unmistakable way of a feline who's decided you're hers. Nothing improper, mind you—just that quiet game shared between two beasts of the same soul.
Eventually, that velvet shadow grew more and more languid—her playfulness dissolving into drowsy stillness—and then dozed off completely, its warmth pressing down on me, its huge head resting on my knees.
I didn't dare—didn't wish—to move. I let her sleep. I lowered my hand and stroked her silky fur. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe. I felt chosen, and I felt whole.
And then, Maria's voice rose from somewhere inside me:
'So she came to you, eh? The Cat of Shadows?
Oh, girl... She only curls up next to those she means to never let go.'
Next to the great, sleeping cat, I too began to feel drowsy. The sun was sinking fast beyond the horizon, and a sweet torpor settled over me—my eyelids growing heavier with each breath. Sleep beckoned like smooth, enveloping water—so warm, so comforting... yet so treacherous in that wild and innocent world.
But I yearned for it. I longed to surrender—to drift into the merciful depths of oblivion, to lose myself in a dreaming abandon in the embraces of dreams.
'Oh, dreams! Please, I beg you, stay away from me, you dreams—fumes of Hell!'
So I longed for a dream inside another dream. And my wish was granted by the Cat of Shadows. I dreamed of a dark crypt. It opened before me, flickering with wicked flames that burst from its floor and licked at the blackened walls. Somewhere in that place, hidden by shadow and fire, there was a well. I knew it was there, and I wished—no, I needed!—to drink from it. The burning lights scorched my eyes, flayed my skin, but I kept crawling forward. I longed to rest, to lie down just for a moment—but in places like that, you're never safe, and nobody is allowed to linger, for things can change in the blink of an eye—shadows can turn to flame at any moment!
I began to run frantically through the breathing fire around me, and ahead, amid the living darkness and wrapped in a veil of blue mist, I saw the well!
With my last bit of strength, I dragged myself to its edge, desperate and parched. I tried to drink from the well, but the treacherous water twisted away from me, swirling downward—
And turned into a starry sky arched above me!
I was lying on silk-smooth grass beneath an alien firmament. Strange constellations pulsed in the blackness above me, and no trace of Nirn's moons remained—
Only a large, yellow, dappled disk floating in that otherworldly sky.
I stared at it, spellbound—until a distant, echoing sound stirred the silence.
Into the unknown sky above me, a purple star flared into being and flickered, grew brighter, then started falling—
kept falling—crashing down upon me!
I woke up suddenly and saw a man with a torch emerging from that narrow corridor, which had appeared to lead nowhere. My mind was clear and rested, my senses honed to a feline edge, and I instinctively rolled out of the path of the approaching light. Keeping to the protective shadow of the wall, I took in my surroundings. The walls and floor of the central hall were clad in marble, and at its heart stood a massive column. It rose from the center of a wide pit, bordered by marble edges—the very ones that had halted my progress earlier. As for the ceiling, it remained shrouded in darkness, beyond the reach of the flickering torchlight.
The man carrying the torch was tall and gaunt, dressed in dark clothes, and dragging a heavy sack behind him. A sharp instinct urged me to follow him from the shadows to uncover his destination and intent. But caution whispered another path—to retrace his steps and investigate the corridor he had come from, searching for an exit.
I heeded prudence and turned back. And there it was—the opening. Above the stairs I had failed to climb earlier, an open hatch now beckoned. I ascended and emerged into the silence of a mausoleum, one of many slumbering in the Palace District cemetery.
I breathed a sigh of relief and quickly put distance between myself and the hidden entrance to the city's sewers. Night had already fallen, and with it, my new life had begun—just as Maria had advised.
II
From then on, I prowled the city only under the cover of darkness, resting by day in parks or among the tombs of the Imperial City's cemeteries—sometimes even inside mausoleums. That summer, hunger never tormented me again, and I learned many strange and useful things about people and the places they called home.
I discovered other ways of slipping into a house. While doors were often locked tight at night, the cellars' trapdoors were neglected and vulnerable to those with patience and curious, smart eyes. I taught myself to climb: first trees, then rooftops, where hatches often opened into dusty attics. Most were left unsecured, and those that weren't soon yielded to an agile hand.
I also learned to procure food by other means. Breaking into homes had proven far too dangerous—more than once, I'd come within a breath of being caught, the owners stirred by a creak or one of my rookie mistakes.
So instead, I turned to the city markets, where baskets of ripe fruit, wilting greens, and dusty root vegetables waited unattended or barely watched after nightfall. I raided the nests of wild and domestic birds alike—stealing their eggs, and sometimes the birds themselves, especially those roosting in the trees of city parks. And then, there were the bakeries... At dawn, when the scent of warm bread spilled into the streets and shutters creaked open for the day, a sharp eye and a quick hand could claim a breakfast fit for kings—as I saw it—long before the city stirred to life.
The refugee children who had once flooded the city were no longer a concern. I hunted when they slept, nesting in the hollowed remains of warehouses or makeshift dens near the Arena District. And besides, by summer, most had vanished—some taken by the Order, others following their families to the refugee camp southeast of the capital.
Yet there was another breed of stray children, far more dangerous—the capital's urchins. These were locals, born and raised in the winding alleys and hidden corners of the Imperial City. Some served the Thieves Guild and posed no threat to me. Others, however, prowled free in feral packs—predators in their own right—and once they became aware of my presence, they turned their attention to me.
Whenever they tried to catch me, I easily managed to get lost in some winding alley or shady corner. Sometimes, I even slipped down into the sewers, and they didn't dare to follow me there; or I lured them near a patrol of warrior monks, just for fun. My nocturnal life and the incursions in the subterranean galleries had sharpened my senses and agility; darkness no longer slowed me—on the contrary, it welcomed me and made me swift and silent. Whenever my eyes failed me, my nose took command, guiding me through the dark and filling what I believed to be a useless and empty sensory field. It patched the gaps left by sight, replacing shadows with scents, and painting the invisible with astonishing clarity. I even began to recognize and decode entire families of smells, like some secret language meant only for me. My mind learned to read this olfactory script, and in time, I started drawing an invisible map of the sewers—one made of damp moss, rusted iron, dead rats, and flowing filth. It was glorious. It was thrilling. It was my subterranean kingdom! Also, my hearing had sharpened past anything human—so sharp I could hear mice scurrying through the grass where others heard only silence. So the terrible urchins of the capital were no match for me in the end; these street-hardened scavengers were skilled in their trade, yes—but clumsy, loud, and all too afraid of the shadows that embraced me as one of their own. Therefore, I could easily avoid them, especially since our hunting grounds were different. While I was only after food that summer, they hunted for another kind of prey: coins and worthless trinkets.
As Maria had advised me, I made myself a small hideout somewhere in the sewers beneath the Merchant District. Down there, the ancient galleries and culverts once carved by the Ayleids had been expanded over the centuries—especially during the height of the Empire's reign—and the newer additions, though more numerous, were clearly inferior. They had been hastily built, closer to the surface, less carefully planned, and using materials that lacked the quality and wonder of the old stone. Or perhaps it wasn't the craftsmanship itself that failed, but something deeper—something no longer present in the world of men. The Elves had bound their tunnels with enchantments—subtle, silent runes etched into the very bones of the stone—and their walls carried a pulse, a secret rhythm of strength, as if the rock itself still remembered who shaped it.
The newer galleries had no such memory. Without the old spells, the walls wept with dampness, the ceilings cracked with age, and the entire system had begun to rot inward like a hollowed tree.
In some areas, sections of the ceiling or floor would collapse outright. These cave-ins were usually triggered by water infiltrating the deep beds of sand beneath the district—especially after heavy rainfall—and were sometimes foretold by long, creeping cracks in the streets above.
But other times, there were no warnings. The stone floor beneath your feet might simply vanish. Entire galleries would sag, then sink—quietly, mercilessly—swallowed by the treacherous quicksand below. And when that would happen, the tunnel could turn into a grave for anyone foolish or unlucky enough to wander carelessly inside.
There were at least two such death-traps in the sewers of the Merchant District during the time I prowled the underground like a true creature of darkness. I discovered one of them on a crisp autumn day, when the morning chill reminded me that I needed a proper shelter for the winter, and it nearly claimed my life. I survived only thanks to my instincts—and because I was small and light enough to cheat this kind of death. The trap caught me off guard, its filthy, wet embrace wrapping around my legs in an instant, sucking me down with the hunger of some patient and merciless monster. I sank. Slowly. Relentlessly. Up to my knees, then higher. The stench was overwhelming, thick with the rot of the city's bowels. And I felt it, I felt the mire, the abysmal monster, the sentient sludge swallowing me inch by inch. It was a cunning monster; it would let me spend my strength before killing me, and the harder I would struggle, the more it'd swallow me up.
Ah, such a death is terrible, my friends! Few fates are more degrading—or more final.
And yet... I didn't panic. I did not trash.
Something deep within me—some feral memory, maybe some ancient feline wisdom which wasn't mine—told me what to do. I seemingly surrendered. I gave myself to the fiend, letting it cradle my weight rather than resisting it. Slowly, I leaned forward until I was lying flat, half-floating on the thick sludge. I stretched out my arms, inch by inch, toward the nearest stone wall—the one I had passed moments earlier.
My fingers found a crack. Or a crevice... Mayhap a corner... I held on—not with frantic strength, but with patience. Endless, precise patience. Like a panther stalking its prey.
And then, moving no more than a whisper at a time, I began to slide free.
I clawed my way out of that monstrous puddle, slick with horror and filth, inch by inch—just like in a nightmare.
After what felt like an eternity, I cheated the terrible death that awaited and reached the damp but solid floor of the gallery. Exhausted, I crawled away from the monster and then lay still for a long time, breathless, my mind drifting away, dreaming of the sunlit jungle that often appeared in my visions. And in time, Maria's face appeared before me, and I once again heard her firm voice warning me to beware the unfathomable depths sometimes found in the city's sewers.
So as I began to recover from the torpor that had gripped me, I sniffed the air around me—and yes, amid the thousand scents of the underground, I detected an odd one. It was a cold smell, just as Maria had said—but not the kind that comes with fresh snow or starlit frost. Those are clean and pure scents, yet the one breathed by the fiend was more earthy and subtle. Among the many messages it sent to my mind was the warning of imminent death and, strangely, an invitation, a call to explore the infinite—something like a siren chant!
At the time, I understood little; I only learned a crucial lesson for survival in the shadows. But now I know that on that autumn day, deep in the bowels of the Imperial City, I perceived the Void for the first time in my life. Raw and unshaped, this is true. But perhaps much closer to reality than the elevated forms in which I can sense it now.
Ah—"reality." There's that word again! I should know better by now...
I may mention again the term "reality" in this confession of mine, and for that, I apologize in advance. Yet, what could I do? Languages—even the subtle and rich Ta'agra—lack the terms to shape what the senses come to know once the first skin is shed!
Anyway, back then, I branded that specific smell in my memory and, after that day, I grew warier; in the murky darkness, I absolutely trusted my nose, which is definitely more refined than that of most mortals. Well—except for the cat people, of course! Even their kittens could likely shame me in this regard!
Eventually, I emerged from the sewers through a manhole in the Elven Garden District and washed myself thoroughly in the cold waters of a fountain. However, the pestilential stench I had borrowed from death's passionate embrace clung to me for several days, forcing me to remain in the city's bowels until it had entirely faded away.
Still, those days turned out to be surprisingly productive; I explored a wide area of the Merchant District's sewer system and discovered another collapse, more recent and far less extensive than the first. Here, the tunnel's floor wasn't completely swallowed by the deadly sludge across the entire width of the gallery; moreover, the corridor ended in a wall, right beneath the Market District's commercial hall.
It was the perfect place for a hideout worthy of that name. Or at least, that's what I believed back then—and as it turned out, I wasn't too far from the truth. I blocked off all three access points from the outside to prevent anyone from using the manholes and claimed that dead-end gallery as my winter den. Oh, it was also a proper vault for my little fortune!
Following Maria's advice, I stole all kinds of children's clothes... And not just clothes; I even acquired a mattress and two wonderful, fluffy, warm quilts! During my usual nightly strolls, wherever I saw garments left to dry or air out by the housewives preparing their homes for winter, I'd take whatever I needed or liked and carry them back to my lair.
Ah, I smile now as I remember those little domestic urges that drove me to arrange my little den with so much care and affection!
But it was neither the time nor the place for such tenderness. Nor for those small, human joys that had been denied me so early in my troubled life...
Winter had come, a dreadful one, colder than any the elders could remember.
And across the Empire, war was raging fiercely.